


Follow My Lead

by amsch (calendulae)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Ballroom Dancing, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Undercover Missions, sexually charged dance lessons, stakeout makeout?, too many dirty dancing references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-11 23:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16861945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calendulae/pseuds/amsch
Summary: Bucky really imagined his first undercover operation as a detective would be something gritty and hardboiled.Teaching fellow detective (and office crush) Steve Rogers how to dance so they can enter a ballroom competition? Not part of the plan.





	Follow My Lead

**Author's Note:**

> I really like dance movies, and I really like undercover missions. Partially inspired by Brooklyn 99.
> 
> Thank you to [odette-and-odile](http://odette-and-odile.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing, encouragement, watching dance movies with me, and the amazing art (!!) for this fic!

It was an average Friday afternoon in the bullpen - Bucky was just minding his own business, finishing off paperwork, desperately trying to ignore his deskmate eating corn nuts (of all the foods, why), and thinking about the weekend ahead. He had plans, first of which was the luxurious bubble bath he was planning on taking this evening. Some wine, a period drama on his laptop, a deep conditioning hair mask...

The dusty phone shoved into the corner of his desk rang shrilly, interrupting his daydream. Maybe it was going to be something exciting, he thought, ignoring his deskmate making throat slashing gestures and frantically shaking his head. Surely a grown man who ate corn nuts in an open office couldn’t be trusted anyways. He picked it up, readying his most authoritative voice. A little excitement was much needed after three months in the insurance fraud department.

“This is-”  
  
“Detective Barnes, I know, I’m calling you. It’s Captain Hill. I’m placing you on an emergency undercover assignment. I know it’s unusual, given that you’re a new hire, but it involves a...unique skillset.”  
  
“Sure, I’m ready whenever you need me. Do you mean my poisons certification? Or the psych eval training I did? Or-”  
  
“It’s a ballroom dance competition.”  
  
A strangled noise escaped from Bucky's mouth.  
  
“Before you deny it, Barnes, I already know you have the required skill set. Don’t bother. I’ll need you here tomorrow morning at 9 am in the gym. Not the main one, the creepy one in the basement. Ask a janitor if you can’t find it. Your new partner, Detective Rogers, will brief you on the case then. Alright, bye.” 

She hung up. Bucky stared at the phone in his hand, speechless. His big weekend plans - binging cooking shows on Netflix, shouting unfounded criticisms of contestants’ cooking at the TV, sleeping in until 10:30 am, takeout Thai food - crushed, before his very eyes under Captain Hill’s functional yet attractive boot heel. He’d really imagined his first undercover opportunity would be something gritty and hard-boiled. Maybe something where he got a try out a questionable haircut or a moustache. Sequined bodices and feathered headdresses - now those had not factored into his plan. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, his mom always said. And he certainly knew this devil. He’d recognize those high-waisted pants and that Vaseline-on-the-teeth simper anywhere.

 

* * *

 

Bucky hurried into the gym at 9:05, having gotten lost in the bowels of the NYPD building as Captain Hill predicted. The damp, dimly lit room was empty except for one cork board and one tall, very attractive blonde man.

Fuck. Bucky’s one and only Hot Elevator Guy, who happened to be the man Bucky had been nursing a silent crush on since his first day at the NYPD. Bucky only saw him in the elevator, and sometimes in passing in the halls, but God- those shoulders in a gun holster? A few Grey’s Anatomy-inspired elevator makeout fantasies could only be expected. Hot Elevator Guy turned from pinning a last mugshot onto the neatly organized board as Bucky entered and stepped forward, offering a tentative smile.  
  
“Detective Rogers,” he said, holding out his hand. “You can call me Steve.”  
  
“Bucky,” he said. “Or Detective Barnes, if you want.” They smiled at each other, their hands staying clasped just a beat too long before they both hastily let go.  
  
“Sorry,” Bucky said, “But I thought Detective Rogers would be a woman, given the whole undercover ballroom dancing thing?”  
  
Steve laughed. “Definitely not a woman. But I am your new partner.”  
  
“Well, temporary partner, for the case. So, am I just helping with the dancing? Or are there women coming to pair off with, or…?”  
  
Steve shook his head. “No, it’s just us. I’m your partner.”  
  
“I don’t understand-” Steve pointed at the board, and Bucky, looking at it for the first time, saw the words _“GAY GRAND PRIX: INTERNATIONAL MEN’S BALLROOM DANCE COMPETITION”_ on a hot pink flyer.  
  
“Oh. So we’re dancing,” he motioned between himself and Steve, feeling very stupid. “Together.”  
  
“Yep,” Steve said, his shoulders tensing just a fraction.  
  
The door slammed open and Captain Hill entered, shiny boots clicking decisively on the old linoleum.  
  
“Oh good, you’ve met,” she said. “Rogers, have you started the briefing yet?”  
  
“Was just about to, Captain. If you guys want to take a seat…” he trailed off, realizing there were no chairs.  
  
“We’ll stand,” Captain Hill said.  
  
“So, Bu- Detective Barnes. This is a narcotics smuggling ring I’ve been investigating for a while now. These are the key figures,” he said, pointing at the six mugshots. “We believe they’ve been bringing in heroin from South America.” Steve efficiently laid out the finer details of the case before pointing to the pink flyer. “So. The uh, Gay Grand Prix. I wasn’t able to make the connection until I discovered that four of the judges have strong links to members of the smuggling ring,” he said, pointing at a row of professional, overly airbrushed headshots near the flyer. “Last year, there was a huge influx of heroin right around this time. People come from all over to compete, since this is the only same-sex ballroom competition in the world. In fact, three different pairs are coming from the specific town this ring is headquartered in. This competition doesn’t have much news buzz, but it’s well attended enough to provide cover. And the security is armed to the teeth and exceptionally tight. Only dancers allowed, no journalists, spectators, family, anything.”

“That’s why you’re here, Barnes,” Captain Hill said. “You have until Friday to play Johnny Castle with Baby here. You’re signed up as beginners, but I expect you to not make a fool of the NYPD out there. I registered you for the minimum, one International Standard and one American Rhythm. Everything else is your choice. Maybe you can re-use one of your old routines. The cha-cha from IGB 2005 would do nicely.”  
  
Bucky’s mouth fell open. How did she know that? Why did she know that? Wasn’t that the routine where he’d been wearing a tiny gold vest and not much else?  
  
Captain Hill smiled at him in a very alarming way that said she knew exactly what his chest looked like slathered in baby oil and body glitter.  
  
“We’ll get into more specifics about the drug bust during the week,” she said, turning to leave. “Good luck!”

And then it was just the two of them alone in a creepy basement gym that smelled like old jockstrap and athletic failure.  
  
Bucky opened his backpack and pulled out his phone and a bluetooth speaker, setting them on the floor in front of the mirror that ran along one whole wall. That must have been why Captain Hill picked this gym, he thought. In the mirror, he could see Steve bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, looking somewhere between curious and uncomfortable.  
  
“To answer the question you’re dying to ask, I used to be a competitive ballroom dancer. When I was younger.”  
  
“2005? Wouldn’t you have been, like-”  
  
“A lot younger,” Bucky said. Steve was looking at him with what was clearly his patented Good Cop Interrogation Face. It was powerful. He made you want to tell him things! Bucky was only human!  
  
“I was a child ballroom star, okay?” He said, mildly disgusted with himself at how quickly those active listening eyebrows had broken him. “My sister and I were, like, famous. We competed all over the world. Won trophies and shit. You know those scary flexible kids with too much makeup and weirdly sexualized costumes? I was one of those.”  
  
Steve’s eyebrows had gone so far up that they’d practically merged with his hairline. He bobbed his head a few times and made some thoughtful noises that Bucky knew meant he didn’t quite know what to say to that.  
  
“You can ask one more question before we start,” Bucky said, resigned.  
  
Steve scrunched his face up. “What’s playing Johnny Castle with baby? It sounds like….I dunno...some weird sex thing.”  
  
Bucky laughed. Well, that was unexpected. “You haven’t seen Dirty Dancing?”  
  
Steve shook his head, still looking confused.  
  
“It’s a movie from the 80’s. I’m assigning you homework, as of right now - watch it. It’s really good. I mean, it’s kind of cheesy, but like in a good way, plus, Patrick Swayze….anyways. We should get started.”  
  
Steve nodded and unzipped his sweatshirt, revealing a ludicrously tight t-shirt. Steve was really more the Johnny Castle type, Bucky thought, eyeing his broad shoulders out of the corner of his eye. Which would make him Baby...yes...he could work with that. “Unchained Melody” started playing in his head as he envisioned Steve lifting him over his head with those arms...maybe he was wearing a soaking wet, all-white ensemble and Steve was shirtless, waist deep in a shimmering lake...

  
Bucky snapped back into focus. Right. Professionalism. He was here to work his first big case, not fantasize.  
  
“Why don’t we start with some stretching? Just follow what I do,” he said, pulling off his own sweatshirt. He started with some basics, hamstrings, and hip flexors and shoulders, and was pleasantly surprised to see that Steve was fairly flexible. He had a natural athleticism, like someone who actually liked to move and not just loudly Meat Market it up in the weights section, but he didn’t quite seem fully comfortable in his body. Bucky made his stretches a bit deeper, getting a little more movement into them, and Steve followed. There was an interesting uncertainty to the way he moved his body in space, like it was bigger than he remembered.

  
“Did you play sports when you were younger?” Bucky asked, trying to feel out how difficult this was going to be.  
  
Steve snorted a little. “No, I was like, the least athletic kid you can imagine. Scrawny, constantly sick, etcetera, etcetera. Thank god for effective asthma meds and good healthcare. Now I’m one of those people that actually likes working out. I know, it’s obnoxious. But I don’t want to take it for granted.”  
  
“Makes sense,” Bucky said, straightening up from his lunge. “Let’s try some basic steps. I’m going to skip some of the foundational stuff and just go right to our dances.”  
  
“The cha cha is kind of cheesy,” he said, leading Steve through the basic footwork side-by-side. “But I think it’ll work for us because usually the women wear some ridiculous neon costume and do all of the flashy stuff. The men don’t have to do a ton of fancy moves. I’ll just like, flip my hair around a bunch and do some splits and it’ll be fine.”  
  
“Right, right,” Steve said, pretending he hadn’t just stumbled a tiny bit when Bucky mentioned doing the splits.  
  
For their second dance, Bucky was thinking the Viennese Waltz, which wasn’t necessarily beginner level….but Bucky had a very strong artistic vision of being swept elegantly around the dance floor by Steve in a tuxedo. And it was important to carry out one’s artistic visions.

The day passed quickly, taking a quick break to run down to the bodega for lunch and then picking right back up again. Steve was catching on to the foot work and getting the hang of moving his torso and hips. He was light on his feet, with surprisingly good musicality. Bucky thought things were progressing quite nicely, for just one day of work.

 

* * *

 

Never let it be said that Bucky didn’t prepare. They’d covered all the basics of posture and footwork and body movements yesterday, so today they were going to have to start actually getting physical. This called for the mango-coconut shampoo that had once made a man actually try to lick his hair (a rousing endorsement), and if his hand just happened to fall on his most flattering pair of tight black workout pants? Well, he was planning on getting into some high kicks. He wondered idly if he could kick over Steve’s head.

Steve jogged into the building just as Bucky was stepping into the elevator. “Good morning!” he sang cheerfully, as Bucky held the door for him. It was too early, too at-work-on-a-Sunday for Steve to be this chirpy. Bucky managed a weak smile back and chugged the rest of the coffee he was holding.  
  
“I always see you here in the elevator,” Steve said, making him choke a little. “You usually get off on the fourth floor, right? What department are you usually in?”  
  
Steve had noticed him! Steve knew what floor he got off on! Elevator makeout still a future possibility!  
  
“Insurance fraud. Not the most thrilling,” Bucky said.  
  
“Yeah, well, people think Narcotics is going to be crazy and exciting, but it’s mostly just surveillance.” The elevator stopped in the basement and they started walking down the long, dimly lit corridor. “Undercover work always makes me remember why I got into the crime solving business.”  
  
“You have no idea how glad I am to be finally doing some actual crime solving. Even if it is mostly just ballroom dancing, it’s better than the endless paperwork I’ve been doing for the past few months. The insurance fraud position was the only NYPD detective job posted online for the past year, and I really wanted to work here. So I figured I’d put in my time.” Bucky shrugged and held the gym door open for Steve. “It’s not that bad, all in all. I only passed the detective exam 14 months ago, back in Boston.”  
  
“So you’re new to New York then?” Steve asked curiously.  
  
“Yep,” Bucky said, thinking of his tiny studio apartment, still filled with boxes. His mattress on the floor and the blank walls, to which he had pinned exactly one photo of his family, which somehow made the endless white, empty space around it even more depressing. “Not quite home yet, I guess.” He set down his backpack and started stretching, and Steve followed his lead.  
  
“Well, I grew up here, so if you need someone to show you around, I know all the best local spots.”  
  
“That would be great,” Bucky said, going for a casual, airy response. Obviously Steve was offering as a friendly colleague, no need to have a big gay meltdown about it. “Alright, you ready to get started? Let’s work on some choreography.” He was going to use a simplified version of the routine Captain Hill had suggested, because of course she was right, damn her and her uncanny ballroom knowledge.  
  
Bucky stepped in close to Steve and ran his hand through his hair. _Deploy missiles, bitch_. Steve’s nostrils flared at the waft of mango-coconut and he licked his lips unconsciously, his eyes flicking down to Bucky’s lips for a split second.  
  
“Listen, Steve, there’s gonna be a lot of, uh, physical contact. Latin Ballroom can get pretty steamy. I just want to make sure it’s okay with you before we start.”  
  
Steve nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course. It’s all part of the job, right?”  
  
“Right,” Bucky said, placing his hands on Steve’s hips. Steve instantly turned pink. “The job. Now, do the a forward basic but get some hip action in there.”  
  
“Pretty good,” Bucky said, as Steve did as he was told. “I feel like you can do better. Do it again.” This time, Bucky pushed and pulled Steve’s hips in time with his feet. The third time, he kept one hand on Steve’s hip and moved the other one to his shoulder, nudging slightly to give Steve a sense of the movements. Steve’s shoulder was warm and firm under his hand. The thought of biting it popped into his head, and his other hand involuntarily tightened on Steve’s hip, fingers digging in. Steve let out a short, hard breath, and a strange expression crossed his face. Bucky quickly let go, turning to the mirror.  
  
“Great. Really nice hips-” he looked up and caught Steve’s eye in the mirror. “Pelvic...flow-” What was he even saying? He took a deep breath and stepped into the partner hold, taking Steve’s right hand in his and placing Steve’s other hand between his shoulder blades. Steve’s face was carefully neutral as Bucky put his other hand on top of Steve’s shoulder.  
  
He tried to think of a safe topic and the practiced the forward back, side-to-side rhythm. “So, I feel like I should explain how a competition like this works. We’re only entered in the two amateur freestyles - so we’ll be competing with about a dozen other couples at the same time. We dance to whatever music comes on, and we’ll use our choreo, but we have to keep it flexible since it can get crowded out there. The hard part will be not being standing out. We can’t do anything too flashy, or mess up too badly, god forbid, since we don’t really want the judges taking a close look at us. And we can’t be too good either, which is extremely painful for me to admit, because I am deeply and obnoxiously competitive.”  
  
Steve snorted. “Why does that not surprise me?”  
  
Bucky made an offended noise. “I’m not even that bad compared to Becca! She is truly a nightmare person when it comes to competition. You don’t know true fear until you’ve played _Pretty Pretty Princess_ with a tiny, insane Napoleon. Anyways, there’s always our next ballroom competition. We’ll win that one in a blaze of glory.” Bucky lifted his hand and Steve spun under it.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said, spinning back the other direction and landing perfectly in Bucky’s arms. He smiled. “The next one, for sure.”

 

 

* * *

 

  
Bucky was mumbling dance moves to himself, deep in a dance haze, as he walked down the basement corridor, swinging the bag of sandwiches that he’d picked from the deli for them. He’d just worked through the next few bars of their routine when he heard voices coming from the gym. Captain Hill, he thought, and Steve, and the tinny sound of phone speakers. He paused at the door. Captain Hill’s tone of voice was one he’d never heard on her before, and frankly, it was alarming.  
  
“They were so cute,” she was cooing. “Look at the little cowboy boots!”  
  
Dear God. Please, no. Bucky prayed for a sinkhole to open up under his feet.  
  
Steve made a gentle ‘Awww’ sound and laughed softly. “Oh! I recognize that move! We were just practicing it before lunch.”  
  
Bucky took a deep breath and cast his eyes to the heavens. No sinkhole. God was surely testing him. He stepped through the open door. Captain Hill and Steve’s backs were to him, both hunched over her phone. He cleared his throat and they both jumped, and turned around, looking extremely guilty.  
  
He glared at them with as much dignity as he could muster, given that they’d both seen him shimmying his tween heart out in little gold cowboy boots.  
  
“Maria- Captain Hill was showing me one of your routines. On Youtube.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “It was to help with our choreo. You were really- cute,” he finished awkwardly. “And good, too.”  
  
“I did say we won trophies and shit. And I still am cute,” Bucky said icily. He set the bag of sandwiches down. “I didn’t even know I was on Youtube,” he said, deflating a little.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Captain Hill said. “People online still wonder what you’re up to these days, you know.” Before Bucky could ask precisely where online people were discussing him, she stuck her phone in her blazer pocket and straightened up into her usual ramrod posture. “So, sounds like it’s going good down here. I just came by to check in and to let you know we’ll be running the whole team through the scenario tomorrow at two. You can practice in the morning and then the afternoons will be for the case and your usual duties. Steve, you’re still on surveillance as well.”  
  
Steve saluted her (unironically, Bucky noted) and she turned briskly and left. Probably going home to post gleefully on the ballroom message boards about him like the traitor she was.  
  
Bucky gritted his teeth. “So, how many videos did she show you?” he asked, handing Steve his sandwich.  
  
“Just a couple. They were fantastic,” Steve said, still without a trace of irony. “So, Hill said she was getting costumes for us. She said we should send her our measurements by tomorrow. Do you think- Does everyone wear costumes like that, with the feathers and sparkles and stuff or is that just for kids? I didn’t realize they’d be quite so…” he trailed off and took a bite of his sandwich.  
  
“The adult ones are worse,” Bucky muttered darkly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The beginning of the week rolled around, and with it their team briefing, where Steve and Bucky, along with the extraction team and backup officers learned the layout of the hotel where the competition was being held, and memorized the precise timing of when everything was supposed to happen. And then there were countless contingency plans to learn and prepare for. Bucky felt like his head was stuffed so full it was going to plop right off by the time he stumbled home and fell into bed the next few nights. By the middle of the week, their cha-cha was looking pretty damn professional, and Bucky figured it was time to switch to learning the waltz. They started the same way, Bucky showing Steve the footwork side-by-side and adjusting his arms and posture, before getting into the notoriously difficult partner hold and trying the basic steps together with the music.  
  
It wasn’t going as well as the cha cha. Steve was struggling. He was stepping on Bucky’s feet, he was turning the wrong way, his elbows were drooping, he was a disaster. Bucky paused the music and stepped away. Steve ran a hand down his face and rested his hands on his knees.  
  
“I’m sorry, Buck, I’m just tired. I’ll get it.”  
  
Bucky felt his frustration leak away. Steve really did look tired, pale with dark circles under his eyes.  
  
“Let’s take a break,” he said, laying down on the floor. Steve flopped down on his back next to him and closed his eyes. “It’s been a long couple days.”  
  
Steve smiled thinly. “Long couple days and long couple nights too. I’m still on surveillance at night this week, since my partner is covering the days.”  
  
Bucky sat up. “Wait, you’re staying up all night working? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”  
  
“I’ve been able to get some sleep in the evening at least, and a bit before coming in,” Steve said. He yawned again. “But yeah...this week is catching up with me. I haven’t even had time to watch Dirty Dancing yet, can you believe that?” One side of his mouth quirked up.  
  
Bucky looked at Steve’s long, dark eyelashes fanned out on his cheek, his slightly parted lips, and realized he was about to do something stupid.  
  
“Don’t partners usually do surveillance together, so you can sleep in shifts? What if I came with you tonight?”  
  
Steve opened his eyes, a crease furrowing between his eyebrows. “They do, but you don’t need to do that. I wouldn’t ask that of you-”  
  
“I want to, Steve,” Bucky said, and realized it was true. He actually wanted to spend more time with Steve so bad that he was willing to give up precious sleep for it. This was bad. “How about if we hit up one of those local food places you were talking about, we surveil, I’ll bring my laptop and if it’s quiet we watch Dirty Dancing. And we can take turns getting some rest.”  
  
“That sounds...really nice,” Steve said. The forehead crease was still present, though. “Are you sure you don’t have anything else you’d rather be doing though?”  
  
“Can’t think of a single thing.”  
  
“There’s not anyone...at home…that’s going to be waiting for you...”  
  
“Steve. There’s really not. It’ll be fun.”  
  
“Text me your address, I’ll pick you up at 8. It’s a date, then,” Steve said, before immediately realizing what he’d said and turning pink. Bucky stood up and reached out his hands for Steve, pulling him up too.  
  
“It’s a date,” he repeated. “Now, ready for more? The Viennese Waltz is all about romance and magic, looking like you’re barely touching the floor. We’re gonna be elegant as fuck, Stevie, they’re not gonna know what hit them. Yes, that’s better!” he said as he led Steve through the steps again. Steve had a new energy now, managing the turns without stepping on Bucky’s feet quite as much. He really did look like a Disney prince like this, with his shoulders back and chin tilted up at just the right angle. Steve’s mouth twitched, feeling Bucky’s eyes on his face.  
  
“Eyeline is supposed to be over the partner’s right shoulder, Detective Barnes,” he murmured. His eyes slid over to meet Bucky’s. There was a moment of perfect balance, like a pendulum its highest point, as they spun with their eyes locked together, their bodies aligned.  
  
The door slammed open and the pendulum fell. Steve stumbled over his feet and didn’t let go of Bucky’s hands fast enough to regain his balance. He went toppling to the floor, taking Bucky with him in an ungainly pile of limbs.  
  
There was muffled, apologetic laughter from near the door. Bucky looked up from his compromised position to see two detectives he knew by reputation alone, Wilson and Romanov. Both insanely attractive, both very good at their jobs, both meeting him for the first time straddling Steve, sweaty and red-faced.  
  
Bucky stood up, brushing himself off, and helped Steve up.  
  
“Jesus, Sam," Steve groaned, rubbing his elbow. "Your dramatic entrance really threw us off. Can you text or something next time? Kinda in the middle of something here.”  
  
Detective Wilson walked over and offered a large bag of takeout. “We heard from Hill how hard you guys are training down here in the creepy gym, so we brought lunch. It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever, man!” He pulled Steve into an affectionate hug before holding out his hand to Bucky.  
  
“You must be Detective Barnes,” he said, with a wide smile. “I’m Sam, Steve’s usual partner.”  
  
“Bucky,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand.  
  
“And this is Natasha,” Steve said, slinging an arm around her. “We don’t really know what her job is or why she hangs out with us, but she does, so.” He shrugged and Natasha and Bucky shook hands.  
  
“Steve says you’re quite the dancer,” she said. “I have a ballet background myself.”  
  
“I love ballet,” Bucky said, slightly too enthusiastically. Steve had been talking about him? “I’ve never tried it, but I love to watch it.” Natasha smiled like this pleased her. Behind her, Steve was scrunching his face up like he had something he desperately, desperately wanted to say.  
  
“You can tell them,” Bucky said, resigned to his fate as the office jester in gold cowboy boots.  
  
“Bucky was a child ballroom star!” Steve blurted out.  
  
To their credit, neither Sam nor Natasha laughed outright at this.  
  
“Really?” Sam asked, genuinely curious. “How long did you do it for?”  
  
“I started when I was basically a toddler, but my sister and I competed together from when I was about 7 until I was 18, when I went to college.”  
  
“What made you give it up?” Natasha asked.  
  
“I wanted the normal kid college experience, which I got in spades, and being a detective was my dream career, but...” he hesitated. “I was ready to ah, be myself, and the ballroom scene is notoriously homophobic. I wasn’t really ready for all that when I was a teenager.”  
  
Steve nodded and smiled at him, something like understanding passing quickly over his face. “Let’s go eat outside,” he said. “I’m starving.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve had picked Bucky up right at eight, as promised, and they’d stopped to get Burmese takeout from a tiny hole in the wall spot that was just as delicious as Steve had promised. Surveillance wasn’t so bad, Bucky thought. He was surprised how easy it was to make conversation with Steve, and how comfortable the silence in the car was when they didn’t, even as the hours ticked by. It was approaching 1 am now and they’d both taken a few short catnaps, but Bucky wasn’t feeling as tired as he’d expected.  
  
“There goes the last guy,” Steve said, watching through a pair of binoculars as a grey sedan drove away from the warehouse. He wrote something down in his notepad and then flipped it shut. “That’s everyone that went into the building, according to Sam, so now we just make sure no one else shows up. They usually stay late and then roll in around 10 am, so we’re probably good as long as we just keep an eye out for cars. Which means…..Dirty Dancing?”  
  
Bucky grinned and pulled out his laptop. He set it on the dashboard, turning the brightness down low so it wouldn’t be noticeable from outside the car. “I thought the time would never come!” he said, pressing play.  
  
Steve was one of those delightful people who were actually fun to watch movies with, laughing at all funny parts and genuinely gasping when something surprising happened and making comments here and there, but not talking the whole damn time. By the time Baby and Johnny had danced their final triumphant number, having the time of their lives, Bucky was pretty sure Steve had shed a single, perfect tear, and now he leaned back in his chair and sighed happily. Bucky shut the laptop, and sudden darkness fell inside the car.  
  
“That was so good,” Steve said, sounding sleepy. “And Johnny Castle...Patrick Swayze….damn….he’s not my usual type, but I might be in love with him now.”  
  
“And what’s your usual type?” Bucky asked, knowing he was crossing a line and not doing a thing to stop himself.  
  
“Mmm…” Steve considered. “All genders considered. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Cute smile.” Steve shifted in his seat, and Bucky’s stomach flip-flopped. He didn’t dare to breathe. This was a dangerous game to be playing in the middle of the night, alone in a dark car, knowing exactly what Steve’s body felt like under his hands and wanting more. “No dancers though,” Steve said. “I hear they’re high maintenance.” Bucky saw the glint of his smirk in the faint moonlight. “What about you, then? It’s only fair.”  
  
“I like a Johnny Castle type...I’m basic, I guess. Blondes with big shoulders and good hip flexibility. Only dancers though. No one else appreciates my splits in bed.”  
  
Steve laughed and looked over at him. There was a glint in his eye that made Bucky nervous. His eyes traveled down Bucky’s body. Bucky swallowed.  
  
“How much do you weigh?” Steve asked.  
  
“What?” Bucky asked, taken aback. “Uh, about 175. Why?”  
  
“Get out of the car,” Steve said, opening his door. “I want to try something.”  
  
Bucky got out. The night air was cool and fresh, making his skin pop up in goosebumps. Steve backed away until he was about 15 feet from Bucky.  
  
“Now run towards me!” he called, holding out his arms.  
  
“Oh no, Steve, come on-” Bucky said, realizing what Steve had in mind. “There’s no way you can lift me like that, she was like a foot shorter than him-”  
  
“Just try it!” Steve said, beckoning with a big, goofy golden retriever grin that broke down whatever emergency Steve-resistance reserves Bucky was running on at this point.  
  
“If either of us gets hurt and can’t compete, I will murder you,” he muttered, and then broke into a sprint straight at Steve.  
  
And then- Steve’s hands encircled his waist, his feet lifted off the ground, he lifted his arms and legs like a ballerina, and Steve was actually doing it, holding him up in the infamous Dirty Dancing lift. Bucky couldn’t fucking believe it. He started giggling, tipping forward as he lost concentration, and for the second time that day they both ended up sprawled on the ground in a heap. Steve was laughing hysterically, the giddiness of 3 am kicking in. His mouth was right there. Bucky could have lifted his head a couple inches and placed his lips on Steve’s mouth. But he didn’t. Because this was work, and his career, and the police radio chirped inside the car, asking for a status report, and Bucky disentangled himself to get up and answer it instead.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thursday was their last day of rehearsing, and their waltz was...well, not quite as smooth and floaty as Bucky had hoped. Steve had the footwork down well enough, but it didn’t have quite the sparkle Bucky had hoped.  
  
“Detectives,” Captain Hill’s voice interrupted their last rehearsal of the cha cha on Thursday evening. The team had finished the final preparations, and Steve and Bucky had come down to the gym to get a few more run-throughs in. They stopped abruptly at the sound of her voice, stumbling a little, and Bucky paused the Tchaikovsky they were practicing to.  
  
“Steve, you’re off surveillance tonight, Martinez is covering. Get some rest before tomorrow, we want you both well rested and prepared for whatever happens.”  
  
They nodded. A surge of anxiety hit Bucky with the sudden realization of how many things could go wrong.  
  
“You nervous?” Steve asked softly after Hill left. “It’s your first undercover op, it’s a big deal.”  
  
Bucky took a deep breath and smiled brightly, shoving down the thoughts of how much danger he and Steve could potentially be in tomorrow. “We’re prepared. We have backup. I’m fine.”  
  
Steve put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay to be scared. I know I was.”  
  
Bucky looked into those deep blue eyes, and let himself lean into Steve’s touch. It was funny, they’d been touching basically nonstop for the past week, but Steve’s hand on his arm felt...different. Intentional.  
  
“I guess I am nervous.” he admitted. “What do you usually do the night before? To take your mind off things?”  
  
Steve took his hand back to run it through his hair, looking guilty.  
  
“I usually go over all the case notes and files. But I know that’s not really what we’re supposed to do, psychologically speaking. I’m not the best at...relaxing.”  
“We could do something together? It’ll keep us both out of our own heads. Only if you want to though,” Bucky finished hastily, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than he preferred.  
  
“That sounds like exactly what I need,” Steve said. “The less thinking the better.”  
  
There was a pause as they both tried to think of something to do. Bucky really, really didn’t want Steve to come over to his sad single person studio where they’d be forced to sit on his mattress on the floor. How humiliating. And Steve wasn’t offering his place up either, so they seemed to be at an impasse.  
  
Steve snapped his fingers. “Sam and Natasha are off duty today! Would you want to meet up with them? Go out to dinner maybe?”  
  
“Yes!” Bucky said, relieved. “Let’s go out.”  
  
Steve texted Sam as they packed up their stuff and his phone pinged in response almost immediately.  
  
“They’re going to a…” he squinted at his phone, “Blues bar? In an hour and a half. Sam says there’s good food and live music. Does that sound okay?” Steve looked worried, a crease appearing in between his eyebrows, as if Bucky was really going to turn down food and music. Steve could have said he wanted Taco Bell and Bucky would gladly stuff a CrunchWrap Supreme in his face if it meant sitting next to Steve.  
  
“That sound perfect. We’ll go home and change and we can meet there.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky showed up to the bar freshly showered, his hair restored to its rightful, sweet-scented, non-sweaty glory. He hadn’t really known what people wore to a blues bar, so he’d gone with a soft bomber jacket and nice jeans, with some black boots he thought were rather snazzy. He spotted Steve in a bright white button down near the back of the bar, tucked into one of the deep booths with Sam and Natasha. The restaurant was all deep velvets and lush, green plant life, with a marble and gold art deco bar. A jazz band played quietly in one corner.  
  
“This place is amazing,” he said, sliding in next to Steve.  
  
“Exactly what we need,” Steve said, handing him the cocktail menu.  
  
“I can’t believe you got Grandpa Steve to come out, Bucky!” Sam said. “What did it take?”  
  
Bucky looked at Steve and shrugged, smiling slightly. Sam’s eyebrows raised slowly as he looked between them.  
  
Natasha leaned in towards Bucky like she was divulging an important secret. “Usually he just goes straight home to his serial killer apartment and-"  
  
“I do not have a serial killer apartment!” Steve said, turning pink. “I don’t know why you think that-”  
  
“He makes his bed every morning, and he doesn’t have any decorations. He probably-” she paused and lowered her voice. “Drinks milk. Plain. Like a serial killer.”  
  
“I am not a serial killer! Bucky, I’m lactose intolerant, she’s lying-”  
  
“Oh my god, Steve, you’re so easy to embarrass,” Natasha teased. “We know you’re not a serial killer. Don’t worry, James. Oh, I looked at your file,” she said, in response to his wince. “I had to make sure you weren’t a serial killer either.”  
  
“Oh. Cool,” Bucky said. He took a drink of the cocktail that had appeared on the table, some egregiously hipster concoction with pineapple juice and rum and jalapeno.  
  
“You guys are being so weird,” Steve groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Can you just, like tell an embarrassing rookie story like normal friends?”

  
Sam perked up. “Oh, I can absolutely do that. Okay, Bucky, so this one time Steve and I were at the zoo, investigating a break in at the koala enclosure, and fun fact, but koala pee can actually give you chlamydia…”

 

 

A responsible amount of cocktails later, as well as a hefty serving of the Southern food the bar was known for, and Bucky was feeling very relaxed. Sam’s arm was around Natasha, and whatever was going on between them, it was clear they weren’t hanging out as just professional colleagues. Steve was finding any excuse to touch Bucky’s arm, and his leg kept resting against Bucky’s under the table in a way that was making Bucky feel very not-work-colleague-appropriate himself.

There was a slight commotion as the servers started moving the small tables that had been in the center of the room out of the way. The band suddenly changed gears, shifting from their background jazz to something with a little grit, more bass and with a deeper, earthier blues sound.  
  
“Please don’t tell me that’s a dance floor,” Steve grumbled. “Here I thought I was getting a little break from getting my ass kicked about my sloppy footwork and spaghetti arms.” He slouched down into the booth.  
  
Sam smiled wickedly at him. “That is most definitely a dance floor. Nat and I have been coming here for a couple months, actually. Although we’re probably only gonna stick around for one dance tonight, since we’ve all got an early morning. Have you tried blues dancing, Bucky?”  
  
“Blues dancing? No, I haven’t,” he said absently, watching the couples that were filling up the dance floor. They were dancing together in a loose style slightly like swing, but closer and more slowly, their hips slotted together, more well...dirty. “It reminds me of the dancing in Dirty Dancing,” he said, laughing a little. “Doesn’t it, Steve?”  
  
“You’ve seen Dirty Dancing?” Natasha asked Steve. “Since when?”  
  
“Since about two days ago,” he said. “Bucky and I watched it.” Natasha fixed her keen gaze on Bucky.  
  
“It was for research!” he protested, feeling a little too transparent.  
  
Natasha looked skeptical but chose to ignore this clearly outrageous lie. “Well, Samuel, shall we?” she asked, sliding gracefully out of the booth. Sam winked at them and followed her out, where they quickly disappeared in the crowd.  
  
Steve was still slouched down into his seat, although he was watching the dancers with a keen look in his eye.  
  
“You know…” Bucky said, chewing on his drink straw, having that out of body experience again of watching himself step off a ledge and not even caring what was at the bottom. “It never hurts to diversify your dance experience. Practice makes perfect, and all that…”  
  
Steve raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth slid up as he looked at Bucky. “Okay,” he said. “For practice.”  
  
They wove their way into the crowd. “I think it’s something like this,” Bucky said, putting his hand on Steve’s hip and taking his other hand in his, automatically assuming the leader role. He shifted his hips side to side with the sway of the beat. A nervous giggle started rising up in his throat and he risked a glance at Steve’s face. Steve’s eyes were dark, almost hooded. His color was high, and his hair was a bit mussed. He lifted his hand off Bucky’s shoulder and he thought, for a second, that Steve was going to run it through Bucky’s hair. Instead, he picked up Bucky’s hand and placed it on his own shoulder. He put his hand on Bucky’s hip.  
  
“Let me lead,” Steve said, his voice so low that Bucky almost couldn’t hear it. His hand on Bucky’s hip felt giant, pressed into the sharp line of his hipbone and spread around his waist. Steve’s grip was firm, more unyielding than he’d held Bucky any other time that week. As the music dipped and rose, sultry and low, Steve moved his thigh in between Bucky’s, erasing the few inches of space that had been left between them. Bucky’s breath was coming short and hard. He could feel Steve’s breath on his neck, and his hand was pressed to Steve’s chest. He let his thumb trace the line of Steve’s collarbone, across the open collar of his shirt to the hollow of his throat. He felt Steve’s heartbeat pounding.  
  
The song ended, breaking the spell. Bucky felt Steve draw back, the pressure of his hand easing. Sam and Natasha appeared over Steve’s shoulder.  
  
“We’re heading out,” Sam said over the band starting up again.  
  
Steve nodded and dropped his hands off of Bucky, his face carefully blank again. “You’re right, it’s getting late. We should all head home and get some sleep for tomorrow.”  
  
Bucky pasted a polite smile on his face and agreed. _Yes, this had been so fun, thank you for the invite, let’s do it again sometime, alright see you tomorrow, bright and early ha ha!_ And then he was home, falling onto his mattress fully dressed and staring at the ceiling, the feeling of Steve’s hand on his hip still burning his skin, wondering how in the world he was going to make it through tomorrow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Captain Hill was out to get him. Really, truly, she had been placed on this earth for the sole purpose of humiliating Bucky Barnes. How had he been so naive to leave it up to her to pick out their costumes? He’d been so consumed with the pressure of his first undercover op, as well his new career as a ballroom coach, not to mention maybe falling a little in love with his partner, that he hadn’t checked in with her about it, just sent off his measurements and a strongly worded note about tuxedos being traditional for the waltz. And now he was paying for it, staring down a monstrosity that he would be cha-cha-ing in in a little under two hours.  
  
It was too early for this shit - barely after 7 am. It had been chaos in the NYPD office, with the shifts changing and the swat team preparing for later that morning. Steve and Bucky had barely exchanged more than a tense good morning before they’d been handed garment bags and hustled to the basement bathroom. Steve was thumping around loudly and swearing under his breath in the stall next to him. Bucky clenched his jaw and started pulling on the costume, emerging from the stall at the same time as Steve.

They looked at each other, aggressively avoiding each other’s eyes. Maria had gone with an electric blue and and gold theme, in a shiny, stretchy lycra. Steve’s outfit consisted of mostly sleeves, ruffled and attached to a tiny shrug that fastened in the middle with a tasseled string, complemented by high-waisted, tight blue pants with a thick gold racing stripe. Bucky also had the obscenely tight pants, but his were gold with a blue stripe, and instead of the nightmare sleeves he had a tiny gold vest, a throwback Maria apparently couldn’t resist. He looked like a stripper Aladdin.  
  
Steve’s face was a shade of red that Bucky was pretty sure was one of those colors that usually only bees could see, or whatever.  
  
“I don’t even want to….acknowledge these outfits. Let’s just do a quick run through and move on,” Bucky said. Their costumes had built in holsters for their guns, as well as hidden pockets for their earpieces and badges, so they were under strict orders from Maria’s mother, who’d sewn the outfits, to make sure nothing gave them away while dancing. Nothing flew off while they cha-cha-ed, the only obscene body parts that were exposed were Steve’s pectorals, and all weaponry stayed firmly in place while spinning. That was good enough. They headed silently back in the bathroom and into their respective stalls.  
  
Bucky unzipped the garment bag with the tuxedo. Now this was more like it, he thought, pulling it on. Classic black and white, with tails and a bowtie. The pants weren’t lycra, thank god, but the fabric had just enough give in them for him to be able to lunge nicely. He was stepping out of the stall, anticipating seeing Steve in his matching tux, when the bathroom door opened and Sam stuck his head through.  
  
“Hill says you guys gotta go, time’s up. Looking good, man.”  
  
Bucky looked to Steve’s stall. “Steve, does it fit?”  
  
“Yeah, it fits. I’m just having trouble with the- it’s good enough. I can definitely dance in it. We should go.”  
  
“Tell her we’ll be up in a minute,” Bucky said, already unbuttoning his shirt. Sam nodded and left, and Steve emerged from the stall a minute later, looking rumpled. He hoisted his garment bags up and hesitated for a minute at the door, shifting on the balls of his feet.  
  
“Look, Steve,” Bucky said, cutting off whatever dangerous thing Steve clearly wanted to say. “I know we have- stuff - we need to talk about, but we can’t do it yet, okay? We have to focus on today.”  
  
Steve’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, agreed. Today is a big day for both of us. We have to be on top of our game.”  
  
They both nodded at each other, very professionally, like they were sealing a deal. There was a brief silence, in which the memory of Steve’s body pressed up against him suddenly chose to become very vivid in Bucky’s mind. Steve was staring at his lips, his eyes slightly unfocused. Bucky bent down to pick up his garment bag and Steve snapped to attention.  
  
“Right, we’re supposed to be upstairs, we should go...upstairs,” Steve said. He turned on his heel and bounded up the stairs, Bucky following.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Registration under their fake names went smoothly, and “Derek” and “Sean” barely had time to take a quick lap around the hotel, on the lookout for the faces they’d been studying in mugshots and surveillance photos all week. Staying focused was difficult, as the atmosphere at the competition was electric. Every single dancer was clearly thrilled to be there. Men dressed in costumes that were an unholy combination of Mardi Gras, Pride, and the Rockettes were excitedly calling to their friends, taking pictures, and practicing routines in every corner of the hotel floor.

Bucky finally spotted one of the cartel members, an ominous looking bald man, lurking outside a stairwell. He made Steve pose by a potted plant, holding his leg up in the air (just for his own personal amusement), and snapped a photo to send to the team waiting outside. Steve ducked into a corner to subtly check in with the team on his earpiece. The plan was that they’d finish their first dance and then work on getting into the basement, supposedly the center of operations, which opened onto an alley where the team would be blocking off any potential exits. As the call for the beginner’s Latin dance came over the loudspeakers, they headed into the dressing rooms to change back into their costumes and line up to enter the dancefloor, pinning paper numbers to each other’s backs for identification. It should have felt ridiculous, putting on their absurd costumes in a dressing room full of men dressed like a flock of tropical birds, but Bucky felt the preternatural calm that had always preceded a big performance wash over him. Steve, too, was clearly in undercover mode, his body alert but not noticeably tense. His eyes were flicking about, scanning faces like he was committing them to memory.

The spotlights were harsh and hot on their faces as they took their places on the dance floor.  
  
“Can you get a good look at the judges table?” Steve muttered under his breath. Bucky scanned the audience, focusing quickly on the row of faces behind the table, half hidden in the shadows.  
  
“Yep. All four of the suspects are there just like we thought they’d be.”  
  
“We’ll alert the team and make our move as soon as we’re done.”  
  
A buzzer went off to signal 10 seconds, and Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand. His palms were sweaty.  
  
“We got this,” Bucky said. “For the next three minutes, don’t think about them. It’s just us, okay? And this dance. And for God’s sake, remember to smile.”  
  
Steve’s face crinkled into a laugh despite himself. Then a brassy salsa number opened with the bray of trumpets, and Steve was leading Bucky in the most important cha-cha of his life. Their footwork was bouncy, their hips were flowy, Bucky spun beautifully in and out and under Steve’s arms, flipped his hair around as promised, and if they didn’t do any of the showy moves some of the other couples were doing around them, that was exactly as it should be. It finished all too fast, the crowd politely applauding as the couples each took a bow and exited. Steve grinned at Bucky as he bowed, looking immensely proud of himself, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile back.  
  
As they filed past the judges table, two of the women got up and were ushered into a plain, unmarked door, the armed guard whispering urgently to them.  
  
“Shit, something’s happening,” Steve said, the smile dropping off his face. “We gotta go.” They ducked out of the line of dancers and into the shadowed corner where the unmarked door was now unguarded. With a quick glance back at the judges table, where the other four had their heads together, hopefully discussing the performances, Bucky opened the door and they slipped inside. Steve pulled his earpiece out of his pocket and fitted it into his ear, alerting the team that they were in pursuit.

Muffled conversation was audible from beneath them, so they silently followed the group down into the concrete bowels of the hotel. Bucky and Steve paused at the second to last landing, watching as the judges and guard disappeared behind a plain door, held ajar with a brick, at the end of a hallway. Bucky’s mind flashed back to the hotel blueprints they’d studied earlier in the week. He looked at Steve, and Steve seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.  
  
“We’re in basement stairwell B,” he said, whispering into his earpiece. “Suspects seen entering into Alpha location. We’re preparing to apprehend in t-minus-”  
  
Bucky was just reaching around for his gun, secured in between his shoulder blades, when the door on the landing above them slammed open and heavy footsteps started down the stairs towards them. He stared at Steve for a split second, panicking, his hand still on the grip of his gun. Steve glanced up to the feet descending into their eyeline, grabbed Bucky’s vest and yanked him in, pressing his mouth on Bucky’s with a vigorous kiss. Bucky’s mind went blank. This wasn’t a stage kiss, close mouthed and chaste for the benefit of the distraction. This was real, Steve’s mouth open and insistent against his. He let Steve press him up against the concrete wall, and kissed him back, sliding his tongue between Steve’s lips, his hands unconsciously moving to hold Steve’s waist.  
  
“Hey! What are you doing down he- oh.”  
  
Bucky tried to pull away, but Steve shook his head the tinest bit, his eyes open now and focused on Bucky’s.  
  
“Excuse me,” the guard said, shriller and more annoyed this time. Now Steve pulled his mouth away, keeping a tight hold on Bucky’s vest, looking up at the guard with a wide-eyed, bashful smile.  
  
“Oh, I’m so sorry, officer. We just came in here for some privacy.” He fluttered his absurdly long eyelashes at the guard, who rolled his eyes.  
  
“Alright, well, dancers aren’t allowed back here, so wrap it up and get back out into the lobby. I don’t have time to deal with this.” He edged past them on the landing and hurried down the hallway. As soon as he vanished behind the door at the end of the hall, Steve reached back and pulled his gun out, whispering into his earpiece, all business once again.  
  
“The team’s in place. Ready?” Steve asked. Bucky pulled his gun out as well, nodding. His heartbeat, already racing from Steve’s kiss, ratcheted up again as they crept silently down the hallway, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. They paused outside the door, holding their guns at the ready, checking in silently with each other. Bucky nodded, and Steve kicked in the door, shouting “NYPD, put your hands up!”  
  
Everyone in the room sprang into action, yelling and scrambling under tables, or freezing and putting their hands up, dropping boxes and duct-tape wrapped packages on the floor. Bucky sprinted across the room and hit the button to open the cargo door, which flew open to reveal a fully armed swat team surrounding the exit. The few men in the room who had started to pull out their guns dropped them, realizing they’d been made, and reluctantly raised their hands. Outside, the sounds of shouting came from the alley as the few people who’d tried to run were apprehended. Natasha’s voice came over the radio that her team was all clear, all suspects cooperating and no one injured.  
  
The swat team, moving as a single, highly organized unit, began collecting weapons, handcuffing people and getting them into a van. Bucky realized with a start that it was over. They’d done it. The actual bust had happened so fast he felt like he’d blinked and missed it. Steve was talking to Sam over by the door, and Bucky hurried over in case he was missing something while standing there gaping like a fish on land.  
  
“We’re gonna get everyone in and start processing them, but it’s gonna take a while. We really couldn’t have taken them by surprise like this without you guys on the inside. They would have scattered just like every other bust we’ve attempted.” Sam was saying. “Hey, Bucky, good work on your first bust! It’s crazy fast, right?”  
  
Bucky nodded, trying to run his hands through his hair and realizing he was still holding his gun. He stuck it awkwardly back in it’s holster and tried to catch his breath, his adrenaline still pumping.  
  
“Great outfits, guys. Really,” Sam said, looking them both up and down and snickering a little.  
  
“Hill picked them out,” Steve said, not even sounding embarrassed. “Our performance went great by the way, thank you for asking.”  
  
“Oh, I see your priorities now,” Sam said, laughing. “I prefer kevlar when I’m getting down and dirty, but that’s just me.”  
  
“We should go see what the situation is upstairs,” Steve said, “Everything seems handled down here.” Sam waved them away, and after a quick check-in with Captain Hill over the radio, they headed back up to the lobby.

To their surprise they found the lobby still full of dancers, buzzing with activity about the competition. It wasn’t the chaotic scene Bucky had imagined, for disrupting the middle of a dance contest full of hyped-up gay men with multiple arrests.  
  
“Natasha’s team is good,” Steve said, noting the surprise on Bucky’s face. “Really good. They can be in and out with their targets so fast, no one even notices.”  
  
They canvassed the main floor, poking their heads in dressing rooms and unused ballrooms, before heading to the back rooms of the hotel, flashing their badges to the laundry and cleaning staff, most of whom took one look at their ridiculous outfits and laughed in their faces.  
  
An announcement came on over their heads as they made their way through an industrial kitchen.  
  
“The Beginners International Standard Viennese Waltz will be taking place in fifteen minutes. All contestants please report to the dressing rooms.”  
  
Steve looked over at Bucky with that glint in his eye again, leaning up against an industrial sized sink filled with dishes. Bucky knew he was going to agree to whatever Steve suggested.  
  
“It’s gonna take a while to get everyone into processing back at the station…” Steve said slowly. “Maybe we need to stay for a few more minutes, just to make sure the scene is all clear.”  
  
“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” Bucky asked, putting his hands on the sink on either side of Steve and leaning in close enough that he could see the faint dusting of freckles on Steve’s nose.  
  
Steve hooked a finger around the clasp of Bucky’s vest. “That we see this out to the end by performing our ‘elegant as fuck’ Viennese waltz? Absolutely.”  
  
Bucky grinned at him. “Lead the way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve in a tuxedo was a sight to behold. When Steve had sauntered out of the dressing room, holding out his arm for Bucky, looking like a goddamn Leyendecker painting, Bucky thought his poor heart might just give out, unable to take any more excitement for one day. His hair was slicked back, a glossy dark gold under the lights, and his tuxedo fit perfectly, the high cut of the jacket emphasizing his long legs and narrow waist. Bucky was exercising some serious self control, he thought, not just jumping Steve right there where he stood. Delayed gratification and all that, he supposed, although the delay wasn’t likely to be too long, given the way Steve kept looking at him under his lashes and biting his lips.

They made a fine pair, Bucky thought, as he led Steve out on to the dance floor and under the bright spotlights once more. Not only in looks, not only on the dancefloor, but as a team. This was how it should be, detective work and ballroom both, so in sync with your partner that their body and their thoughts were like an extension of your own.  
  
They took their position, Steve’s hand steady in his, and as the music started everything felt right. They twirled and floated, the violin strings carrying them across the dancefloor. It was everything the waltz should be, sparkling and romantic. They were perfectly synchronized, moving as a single unit, the other dancers blurring into a whirl of colors in the background. Bucky couldn’t drag his eyes away from Steve’s face. The music slowed, coming to a close, and as Steve spun in from their final turn, leaning back gracefully into a deep dip, Bucky leaned down and kissed him, forgetting about the crowd watching or the competition or the delayed gratification. None of that mattered. Steve kissed him back, a smile on his lips. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a crowd going wild broke into his brain, and he broke off to realize the audience was cheering for them. Steve blushed, straightening up from the dip, and waved at the crowd, looking bemused. Bucky beamed at him, and together they took their bows.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Finally,” Steve said, slamming his apartment door shut and locking it. The sun was setting, its light warm and golden on their skin. Bucky leaned up against the wall and cocked his head.  
  
“You tired from a long day of hard work, Detective?”

“I’ve got excellent stamina,” Steve said, tugging gently at Bucky’s bowtie so that it unfurled and dropped to the floor. He started popping open Bucky’s shirt buttons one by one, pausing between each one, letting his fingers trail across Bucky’s skin. Steve leaned in and kissed him, capturing Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away and sighing happily. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you in the elevator on your first day,” he said.  
  
Bucky laughed and tugged Steve’s jacket off, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Steve’s pants, toying with the button.  
  
Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s jaw, kissing his way down his neck. Bucky hooked his foot around Steve’s ankle, dragging him closer so their bodies were pressed together like they’d been when they’d been blues dancing.  
  
“We’re a good team, Rogers,” he said, tracing his finger down Steve’s nose. “Ballroom dancing, drug busts, paperwork, it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. I just know when we’re doing it together, it works.”  
  
Steve smiled, his eyes crinkling. “You’re right,” he said. “ _This_ is right.” Bucky tilted his head up, and Steve kissed him, closing the inches between them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’d like to sign up for more dance lessons,” Steve said, later that night, as they lay tangled in his bed, amongst the detritus of two tuxedos, catching their breath. “Do you know anyone that could help with that?”  
  
“Mmm,” Bucky hummed, rolling over and resting his chin on Steve’s chest. “It just so happens I know a detective who moonlights as a dance teacher. Private lessons only. And they won’t come cheap.”  
  
“Well, it turns out I really, really like ballroom dancing,” Steve said, running a hand through Bucky’s hair. “So I’ll do whatever it takes.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [IRL same sex ballroom competition!](https://www.aprilfollies.com/)
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> [And a documentary about it!](https://www.hottotrotfilm.com/)
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> [link to odette-and-odiles's fantastic watercolor piece!](http://odette-and-odile.tumblr.com/post/180851645933/for-calendulae-s-awesome-fic-follow-my-lead)
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>  
> 
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> 
> find me on tumblr at [calendulae](https://www.calendulae.tumblr.com/)


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